


Pick Up The Broken Pieces

by lovedsammy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-it, Episode: s12e02 Mamma Mia, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 16:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10031024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovedsammy/pseuds/lovedsammy
Summary: Coda to 12.02, “Mamma Mia.” Fix-it fic following the aftermath of Sam’s torture and rape by Toni Bevell and his subsequent rescue, because the show didn’t give us that. Sam/Castiel centric, can be taken as platonic or pre-slash.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I know a lot of people have written fix-it fics for this particular episode, but I wanted to try my hand at it considering I wasn't satisfied with what the narrative gave us. There was no aftermath at all to Sam's torture and rape. We just left that basement and went straight to Mary dining with the boys, which, while beautiful, was lacking. Sam brought his torture back up this week in 12.13, surprisingly, so I included the broken ribs thing which I hadn't known at the time. I also wanted to touch on Castiel's previous rape because, yeah, that happened to, and it was also not dealt with. There are also mentions/references of Lucifer's past rape of Sam. It just tied together, so I did it that way. 
> 
> This fic can be taken as platonic or romantic Sastiel, whichever you prefer. However, I am a Sastiel shipper so this was written with shipping intent in mind. I just can't enough of the relationship between these two and wish the show would explore it more (among other things). I hope you enjoy!

“What do you have to lose, except your worst nightmares?”

Sam knows there is no way in hell he can ever bring himself to trust these people, even with one of them standing on the opposite side of the room extending a tentative so-called ‘olive branch’. It’s preposterous, he thinks, the idea that he could ever work with them - with _her_ \- after all that had happened. Even if Mick, as he called himself, said he didn’t mean them harm, Sam wasn’t drinking the koolaid. He was adamant on his feelings, and no time he needed to “cool down” would change that. 

He feels rather than sees that Toni has risen back to her feet, but doesn’t give her the satisfaction of reacting to her presence. He’d given the bitch enough of him already. Despite himself, the hair on the back of his neck stands up, sensing her eyes boring into his back.

“Now then, I’m assuming you lads would like to get out of here, especially you,” Mick continues, nodding at Sam. “Once again, I would like to deeply apologize for your regretful mistreatment at Lady Bevell’s hands. We’ll make sure she’s punished sufficiently.” He turns his attention to his operative. “Come along, Toni. We need to gather your belongings, and I’ve ordered us a private plane back to London.”

He heads up the stairs, pausing in the doorway, waiting for her. Toni obeys slowly, moving like a snake about the room, leveling them all with a cold stare. She roughly shoves past Castiel, and a disdainful sneer curls her lips when her gaze lands upon Sam, who averts his eyes, unable to look at her. 

“Oh yeah, you know what, back to you too, sweetheart,” Dean fires back. “You’re lucky your little friend was here. We ever see you again, your ass won’t be so lucky.”

Toni glowers hatefully at him, but says nothing as she retreats up the landing, and slams the door shut behind her with a loud bang that makes Sam cringe. Seeing his brother's distress, Dean places a comforting hand on his arm.

“Hey, hey, Sammy, it’s okay. She’s gone. You’re safe.”

Sam breathes evenly through his nose to relax his hammering heart, and looks over at his big brother. His brother who he thought was dead and is now somehow here, somehow alive, along with his mother. “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve, uh… I’ve heard that sound a lot for the past two days," He mumbles. “Or you know, three days, however long it's been.”

“I’ll tell ya how long it’s been, too damn long,” Dean grumbles earnestly, slipping an arm underneath Sam’s taller frame to support him. “You have nothing to apologize for, man. Come on, let’s get the hell outta here. Cas can fix you up when we get back to the car.”

The promise of being pain-free in a few minutes is blissful, but the reality of the fact that he’ll be getting out of this putrid, moist basement is somehow even better. “Yeah, sounds good,” Sam says, relieved. “I can deal with the pain for a bit. I just don’t want to be down here a second longer than I have to be.” He shudders, scanning the room that for the past few days has been his prison. 

In a heartbeat, Castiel is over at Sam’s other side helping Dean support his weight, and Sam smiles weakly at the angel, even though it feels as if it’s taking every last ounce of his strength to manage his facial muscles. “Hey there, Cas.”

Cas’s expression is soft, but pained. Guilty, Sam realizes. “Oh, Sam,” He sighs, taking in his friend’s numerous injuries. “I’m so sorry she did this to you. I was supposed to keep you safe.”

Sam shakes his head. It was no good for Cas to blame himself. “It’s not your fault, man. She was already waiting for us. There was nothing you could’ve done.” The angel doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t press the issue, either. But Sam knows Cas well enough by now to know that it would take more than a pep talk to make him stop feeling guilty about it. He’d have to talk to him more about it later, once they’d all had their rest.

“All right, tiger, you ready?” Dean asks him, and Sam almost laughs because Dean hasn’t called him that in years, instead he manages a tight nod. As soon as he places his burnt foot forward, he lets out a pained shout and stops, gripping the chair for support. The pain is worse than he’d anticipated. He can barely hear Dean over the hollowness in his ears, and he worries he might be on the verge of passing out. “Sam?! You hearing me? You all right?!”

Sam groans, squeezing his eyes shut against the nausea and dizziness. He knew he didn’t have anything in his stomach that would be worth throwing up, but he’d still rather not add that on top of everything else. “I’m okay,” He assures the room at large once the feeling passes. “I just stepped too hard on it.”

“What the hell did she do to you?” Dean snarls angrily. “And what did she do with your shoes?”

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know, they’re around here somewhere, I guess.”

“I found them.” He hears Mary pipe up from behind him, and guiltily, he remembers for the first time that she’s there.

“Mom.” The younger Winchester turns his head to stare at her breathlessly, suddenly all too aware of her presence again. “How in the world are you here..?” He had so many questions that his head was swimming. Or maybe that was just the fatigue. For a long moment, he wonders if he’s hallucinating again, because this had to be some kind of dream.

Then his mother smiles, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face, her touch so very real that he’s sure it’s better than anything his imagination could conjure up. “We’ll tell you everything on the ride home, Sam, I promise. Let’s get you out of here and mended up first, okay?”

He nods, emotion stuck in his throat, and it’s her presence that prompts him to keep going. Taking a deep breath, he signals his assent to Dean and Cas to continue and moves. With each step, he can’t help but cry out, the pain growing worse than before and it takes longer than necessary to reach the damn stairwell. By the time they reach the front yard, Sam is half-collapsed and it is only by the way of Dean and Castiel dragging him forward that he is able to move at all.

Once they reach the Impala, they lower him into the open passenger’s side. Cas crouches in front of him and pushes Sam’s greasy hair out of his face, getting a good look at the wounds marring his flesh. Gingerly, the angel places the tips of his fingers to Sam’s tender cheek, using only his thumb to swipe the damage away. Sam closes his eyes in relief at the feeling of warm, healing grace flowing through his body, like the rush of a gentle wave. He looks down and sees that the cuts on his upper body have closed up. Experimentally, he flexes his leg, finding no pain from the gunshot wound. Even the labored breathing from his broken ribs has mellowed out. 

Even after the abrasions fade though, Castiel does not immediately pull away, providing a momentary gentle caress that Sam can’t help but sink in to. It feels good, a comforting touch after the days of torture. The angel takes the opportunity to hone in on any other damage Sam may have suffered. Underneath the physical damage, he detects the emotional turmoil coming off the younger Winchester in waves, an injury that only he as an angel can see. He is in sync with Sam’s emotional suffering better than perhaps anyone alive, except for Dean. Their shared suffering of Lucifer’s Cage had connected them in that way. It takes the angel a moment to identify the source of the heaviness weighing on Sam, remnants of residue from a toxin inside his bloodstream. He furrows his eyebrows, searching. And then Sam cranes his neck just a bit, just enough to expose the needle’s entry point and Castiel sees red. The hunter watches as Cas’s tender expression shifts to realization and then an absolute, carnic rage. A snarl forms on the edge of his lips, and the angel has to stop himself from making the headlight above the car explode. 

“Was it not enough that she tortured your body?” He growls, “She had to go and vilify your mind?” 

“She did what?” Dean angrily prompts, but Cas ignores him, looking back to the dreadful house.

“I should go back in there and smite her while I still have the chance.” 

A hand comes upon his shoulder and he turns back expecting to see Dean, but it’s Sam, and the look on his face makes Cas’s ire lessen just a bit. 

“Don’t, Cas,” He whispers. “Just… leave it.” 

Sam looks so tired suddenly, as though the hell of the past few days has finally caught up with him. Cas decides to take a raincheck on killing the horrible woman just yet. He sighs.

“I’ve healed your numerous cuts, bruises, the broken ribs and the gunshot wound, but you still seem to be suffering from other afflictions like immense dehydration, hunger, and of course this.” He inclines his head at the wrapped foot. “I need to get a good look at it to be sure, but I sense some kind of damage to the dermis and the nerves. What did she use?” He begins unwrapping the wound. It sticks to Sam's flayed skin and he gasps, writhes, and practically howls as it comes undone.

“A blowtorch,” Sam says when he can finally breathe again, raising his foot slightly to give Cas better access. “Her friend or whoever she was did it.”

“Yeah, well, _that_ bitch is dead now.” Dean says proudly. “Mom got her. Saved me and Cas doing it, too.”

Sam raises his eyebrows impressively at his mother, who shrugs although her lips twitch with the hint of a smile.  

With the wound now exposed to the daylight, it looks even worse than it had back in the basement. Cas’s nose wrinkles in disgust when he sees the extent of the damaged foot, scorched ugly and bright red. “This is extensive. I’ll try to be as gentle as I can.” He looks up at Sam for permission to continue, who nods. The hunter can’t help the hisses even though the angel is barely touching him at all, wiggles his toes in discomfort, but a moment later Cas’s grace comes and the pain lessens. The wound practically vanishes before his eyes, except for a lingering redness and slight blistering.

“I’m sorry, Sam, but we’re going to have to do another session when we get back to the bunker.” Castiel says regretfully. “The broken ribs, gunshot wound, and your other injuries were not as hard to heal, but this -” He gestures again down to the burnt foot, which was starting to at least resemble a normal foot now, in Sam's opinion: not quite as bad, “- is proving to be difficult. She caused significant flesh and nerve damage, and my grace seems to still be recovering after she banished me.” 

Sam smiles in understanding. “That’s all right, Cas. It’s already starting to feel a lot better, thank you.” 

Cas watches him skeptically. “Are you sure? I can keep trying if you’re still in a lot of pain.” 

“It’s okay, really,” He insists gratefully. “I can handle a little bit of burning and redness. Besides, you need to heal Dean and Mom, and you’re going to need to recuperate too. This is enough for now.” 

Castiel looks like he wants to argue, but after a moment, sighs and gets back to his feet with a curt nod. He heals Dean and Mary and then they head off. The ride back to the bunker is one of the best  - if not slightly bizarre - things Sam has ever experienced. They stop at a gas station, fuel up, get Sam a ton of sustenance and liquids (“Hey, Doctor Cas’s orders,” Dean had joked much to Cas’s annoyance) and after all explanations are had, and everything makes sense again, he feels calm enough to fall into an easy, but slightly restless sleep.

-

_So, was it good for you?_

When Sam wakes again, it is abrupt and panicked and he is greeted by darkness. For a long horrifying moment, he’s terrified that he’s back in that basement, still strapped to the chair. It takes longer before he realizes he’s in the Impala and it’s parked outside the bunker. Dean is at his side in a instant, pulling the car door open. “Sam, it’s okay, relax, we’re home.” Still a bit delirious from sleep, Sam isn’t aware that he’s breathing heavily and his hands are shaking until Cas informs Dean that Sam’s having a panic attack. He feels like he's been robbed of all breath. The small space of the Impala feels confining suddenly, and he hurries out of the car, needing to be out in open space, fresh air.

_So, was it good for you?_

Her voice is so clear in the crisp chill of the night, making a shiver unrelated to the weather run down his spine. “No. No.” He remembers the feeling of warmth pooling at his groin, the way it clung to the fabric of his boxers. The  overpowering smell of his own odor, the urine, sweat, and blood that he’d been covered in for the past couple of days reaches his nostrils and he gags. He feels dirty, so incredibly dirty. His legs buckle and he falls to his hands and knees, retching violently. The stomach acid hurts his throat as it comes up. Mary comes to sit beside him, pushing his hair away from his sweaty forehead, soothing him with gentle whispers. 

Worst of all, Sam realizes, is that he can still feel the crusted semen in his jeans, sticky and hard and painful. He’s sure that if shame was something one could throw up, he would, and plenty of it. Toni’s words continue to echo around him, drowning out his mothers', as if they had become a part of the night. And then Lucifer’s voice joins hers, cackling and overbearing. _Wow! I didn’t know you had that in you, Sammy! Solid B on the tongue action! And the rest of you, well, that wasn’t bad, either. How about another go?_

It takes twenty minutes for his mom and brother to coax him inside, and when he finally goes, the first thing he does is take a long, hot shower and throws his disgusting clothes in the trash. 

He doesn’t feel clean even after that.

-

Cas is true to his word.

As soon as Sam’s been able to keep some sustenance down, the angel goes back to work on healing up the rest of Sam’s foot. By the time he’s done, there is no evidence left of the third-degree burns, and all nerve function has been restored. It almost feels like being back to normal, but Sam knows better. It was going to take more than a quick angel fix and a resurrected mom to ease him through this. Not that he was ungrateful - he was so happy his family was here with him, his mother was here, that he could barely stand it. And while Toni had been no Lucifer, he still couldn’t bring himself to easily shake off the whole ordeal.

He realizes he won’t be able to take a step forward, any step at all, if he doesn’t tell someone. 

He recalls Castiel’s last words to him before the whole ordeal with the British snob started, how he’d be there if Sam wanted to talk, or needed anything. He finds that now is as good a chance as any to take the angel up on his offer. Dean and Mary are out in the control room and Cas inclines his head with a smile, about to leave Sam to rest when the hunter speaks up.

“Hey, Cas, before you go, can I uh…” He stammers, but presses on before he can lose his nerve. “Can I maybe talk to you for a second?” 

“Of course,” Cas turns his full body towards Sam, expression curious but open, receptive. Sam takes that as a good sign and exhales deeply. This wasn’t going to be easy to talk about, but now that he’d already started, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

“I just wanted to, uh, well… look, I know this might be painful for you to talk about, but…” He swallows down the last of his hesitance. “When you were human, you and April had sex, right? But she did it under false pretenses, so she could torture you.”

“Yes. She did.” A confused furrow appears between Cas’s eyebrows. “Why do you ask, Sam?” 

Sam opens his mouth, tries to get the words out, and promptly closes it again, shame rising in his throat like bile. He fidgets, eyes lowering to the floor. His heart is racing so hard it’s as though it’s going to leap out of his chest, knows that Cas can probably hear it too. His palms suddenly feel clammy and his chest is rising and falling rapidly. A gentle hand on his shoulder shakes him from his reverie, calms the panic rousing inside him. The touch startles him at first and reflexively he almost shrinks under it, because it’s unexpected and he’s not quite readjusted to tender contact yet. 

“It’s all right, Sam,” Cas coaxes him, and Sam feels like he can breathe again.

Slowly, he raises his eyes to meet Castiel’s concerned, but patient gaze, watches the way his face scrunches up. 

“Are you saying that woman - ?”

“Sort of, not really,” Sam explains. “She didn’t exactly force herself on me or anything, but… during the time she was torturing me, she put me under some kind of spell, I guess. Physically, I was still strapped to the chair but mentally, she had me believing I was in bed… with her.”

Realization dawns upon Castiel’s face. “A sexual hallucination.” 

“Yeah. She wanted information from me and when torturing me and trying to break my head didn’t work, she – well, she went another way. The thing is, though… my body didn’t realize it was just a trick, and uh…” 

Cas looks, for lack of a better word, absolutely pissed. “She forced a sexual experience onto you and your body believed it was actually happening. You had physical responses when you were unaware and unable to consent. So you unintentionally climaxed. I could smell it on you, but I thought it was just your body’s response to the stress it was under. She raped you.”

“God, Cas, don’t…” Sam lowers his head in shame, the full gravity of what it was hitting him. “Don’t say it like that.”

Cas lowers himself to sit beside him on the bed, sitting a respectful distance away, but close enough to still be comforting. “There is nothing for you to be ashamed of, Sam.”

“No, but Cas, you don’t understand. She..” He exhales a shaky breath, hands folded in his lap, struggling to choke the words out. “She made me _want_ it, want _her_.” And when he’d roused himself from the spell, with nothing but the evidence of his orgasm drying in his underwear and the sneer on her face as she mocked him, he'd never felt so dirty. With Lucifer, it had still been rape but it had been different; he hadn't been made to want it. Lucifer took, tore, inflicted. Toni had violated even his perception of reality. “She was watching me, smirking, and asked if it was _good_ for me.” The shame washes over him like a physical sensation, building in his chest. Who knew what kind of noises he had made, chained in that chair, what kind of buckling came with his hips? Had he moaned her name upon his release, the stain covering the crotch of his jeans before her very eyes?

“It still isn't your fault. Sam, look at me.” Cas says sternly, and Sam unwillingly meets his eyes. He is taken aback by the intensity in the angel’s expression. “The only one at fault is her. She's an atrocious human being. I regret that we didn't kill her when we had the opportunity. If Dean and your mother knew, I think they would go and kill her right now and I can't say I'm not tempted to do the same.” 

“I know they would,” Sam says, voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s why they can't know. Not yet. Please, Cas... keep this between us for now. I can’t tell them yet.”

Castiel looks pensive, but agrees. “If that’s what you want, I won’t tell them. But if you decide that you need to do so, you won’t have to do it alone. Your brother and I are here, and your mother. We won’t let you deal with this by yourself.” 

A little bit of the tension lifts off of Sam’s shoulders at the angel’s response, and he finds he’s able to breathe a bit easier. The first, real smile he’s had in days curves his lips, even if it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you, Cas.”

The angel returns the gesture, and for what feels like a long time, they just sit there, and Sam takes solace in the companionable silence. When Cas decides at last to try and leave Sam to rest, the hunter finds he has another - if slightly more embarrassing - request to make. 

“Wait, Cas, um,” He fumbles his words, inclining his head at the TV. “Can you... er, do you want to maybe see what’s on Netflix for a bit? I was about to turn it on until I fall asleep, since the noise will probably help me relax.” He explains it quickly, not wanting to keep the angel there longer than necessary if he wanted to go do something else. He just found that he didn’t want to be alone right now, not with the noise raging in his head. It was likely true, in any case -- he didn’t think he could sleep in silence ever again. He’d always be waiting for the next blow, the next time he’s forced awake with cold water and a violation of his very reality. 

Cas, fortunately, seems to understand. He sits back down in Sam’s armchair, his features soft. “You never need to ask, Sam. I’d be happy to join you.”

Sam ends up selecting one of the few nature documentaries that he’s not sure he’s seen, and this time, he is the one who allows himself to move just a little bit closer the angel. One day soon, he'll close that gap again, but for now, this is enough.

He falls asleep with Castiel’s gentle fingers combing through his hair.


End file.
